


freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

by Bookish_Moose



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Edging, F/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookish_Moose/pseuds/Bookish_Moose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hancock/SS drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get it, want it, need it, hold it

Stella remembers the midsummer thunderstorms that used to roll in off the Atlantic. She remembers the quiet stillness before the storm hit, the way the charged air made the hair on the back of her neck prickle, and the wet, earthy smell of the rain. She doesn’t need the clicking of her Pip Boy to remind her that the rad storm raging outside the window is a different beast, but there is still something familiar about the feel of the air that makes her nostalgic. 

Behind her, Hancock paces.

The rads don’t bother him, not like they bother Stella if she’s short on Rad-X, but they do make him jittery, restless. Stella turns her back to the window and watches him. The attic of the ruined house they’ve sheltered in is small and he circles it quickly. Between the coffee table and sagging couch, around a lamp, in front of the broken television and back again. He is hypnotic in his consistency and Stella finds she can’t take her eyes off him. Are all ghouls like this, she wonders, or just hers.

Lightning cracks somewhere in the distance and Stella spares a glance out at the darkening sky. A heavy storm, then. It doesn’t surprise her, as close to the Glowing Sea as they are, but she isn’t sure Hancock is prepared to last this out. 

Nate used to get antsy like this, when he first came back from the war. He’d had the baby as an excuse for his pacing-Shaun was a fussy infant-but Stella had always known. It hadn’t been much of a jump in logic when Shaun lay fast asleep in the crook of his father’s arm and still Nate walked his rounds. Some nights she would lie awake and listen to him pace, others she would slip out the bedroom, take Shaun to his crib and then cajole Nate back to bed with gentle words and a soft touch to his sternum. Nothing more than words and a touch, though, much as she suspects even now that Nate needed more. That they both did. 

She can do more for John. She will.

“Hancock,” she starts.

“You got any Med-X on you, babe?” He clenches and unclenches his hands, fingers flexing below the trim on his sleeves. 

Stella shakes her head, unwraps her arms from around her body and goes to him. “Got a better idea,though.”

Hancock squints at her, then shrugs. “I’m game.”

And he always is. It's one of the things she loves best about him. 

His tricorn hat slides from his head with the slightest tug and Stella sets it gently on the coffee table. It is an antique, after all, and Stella has nothing but respect for things older than even she is. Her fingers skim across Hancock’s bare scalp before prising the coat off his shoulders. 

Hancock’s hands find her waist, slipping beneath the hem of her flannel shirt and digging into the flesh there. He is an impatient lover, all instinct and sensation and need. Pulling her hips hard against his, he grinds into her. Stella’s eyes fall shut, fingers finding the soft, worn fabric of his ruffled shirt. He feels so good beneath her hands, so solid and real, that she can’t help but touch him.

His thumb strokes beneath her ribs and already her breathing is becoming slow and shallow. Stella used to marvel at how easily he could undo her, how the lightest touch would have her panting and dazed. She’s long since stopped marvelling and learned to enjoy the ease with which he plies her body. Now, though, she teeters on the edge of uselessness. If she doesn’t take control now, her plans will be spoiled.

Closing one of her hands over Hancock’s, Stella shakes her head to clear it and takes a step back. When she opens her eyes, she’s not surprised at the confused expression on his face. She smiles and takes a calming breath.

“You’ve gotta chill out, Hancock.”

He reaches for her hand and traces circles on her palm. “That’s what I’m tryin’ to do here.”

Stella laughs softly and pulls her hand from his grasp. 

“Just sit down,” she says, pushing him back onto the couch. 

Hancock sits and stays there, perched in a way that doesn’t quite look comfortable, but it’s good enough to suit her needs for now. He’ll relax soon enough, if she gets her way. 

The couch is softer than she expects when she sits next to him and even her weight on the springs is enough to force him back into the cushions. Hancock’s eyes are wide and alert, fixed on her face in a way that is almost unnerving in its intensity. Whether it’s love or mentats, Stella isn’t sure. Both, probably. Either way, she meets his gaze and holds it as she slides a hand past the neckline of his shirt. 

His skin is a wonder of textures. She traces the hollows and ridges of it, seeking out all the sensitive spots she’s found over the past months. Hancock reaches for the buttons of his shirt, but Stella slaps his hands away. One comes to rest on her thigh and he folds his fingers into the fabric of her ill-fitting jeans. She shouldn’t let it stay there, not if she wants to keep a clear head, but the way his nails scratch over the denim is too good. God, she is weak for this man. 

Suddenly more impatient than she should be, Stella unfastens Hancock’s leather holster and the buttons on his shirt. He shrugs out of them and drops them onto the table beside his coat. Before she realizes, his hands are back on her, tugging until she is straddling him. 

Without his shirt and coat, Stella can see the outline of him half-hard in his trousers. She presses her hips down into him, smiling when he groans. 

“Now that’s more like it,” he says. 

“Greedy bastard.”

Stella shifts forward and kisses him. Leaning closer into his warmth, she slides her hands up around the back of his neck. His skin is softest here, leathery and pliant, and she can feel the quick thrum of his pulse beneath her palms. 

His lips are soft, too. Not plush, mind you, because there’s no cushion to Hancock. He is wiry muscle and bone despite the tenderness with which he usually touches her. 

Lightning cracks outside and Hancock grips her hips, pulls her down onto his groin. Their mouths part and, after a breath, his tongue licks at her upper lip. Normally, she would let him take charge from here, let him flip her on her back and have his way with here, but not today. She exhales deliberately then pushes him hard into the back of the couch. 

A shiver of pleasure runs down Stella’s spine as Hancock’s hands skim down her thighs. She is warm and content and desire simmers deep in her belly already. She wants him to feel this good, wants him aching and writhing for her. 

His skin tastes like salt when she brings her mouth to his neck, salt and metal and ozone from the plasma rifle he’s been hauling. When her tongue finds a sensitive swath of smooth skin just below his collarbone, his breath hitches. Beneath her, his body is still now, attuned to her attentions. She massages firmly, drawing patterns firmly over his chest and stomach. The muscles there quiver, taut under her touch. 

Kissing his jaw again, Stella loosens the haphazard knot keeping the flag around his hips in place. Even though she understands the sentiment, the makeshift belt still seems taboo to her. She pulls it from around his waist and takes a moment to fold it and set it gently on the table with the rest of his things. 

When she settles her weight back onto his lap, Stella can feel his cock against her thigh. She dips her fingers below the waistband of his pants and skims them across the skin between his hip bones. The noise he makes is quiet, but it sends a jolt of need through her. Reaching between them, she takes hold of his cock and pulls it free. 

“Mmm, yeah,” he sighs, letting his head drop back. 

The heated flesh twitches in her grasp as she squeezes the base of his shaft. She strokes a few more times towards the head before running her thumb over it. He’s slick already and she gathers the fluid, circling before stroking down again.

Touching him like this is one of Stella’s favorite things, feeling him harden and twitch within her fist. She likes the control, likes watching him fall to pieces, likes the little gasps he makes when she circles the sensitive spot just beneath the head with her thumb, the way his hips drive upwards into her grasp. 

He is doing so now, breath shallow and even, eyes closed. There is a look of such concentration on his face that Stella almost doesn’t want to stop, but his thrusting is becoming more frantic and, if she’s not careful this will be the end of things. He’s so much more sensitive here than other men she’s known. Unexpected, but the proof is clear. He can fuck her for days but a few strokes of her hand or her mouth have him shuddering.

She gives one firm, final stroke, then lets his cock fall onto his stomach. 

Hancock doesn’t move, but he opens his eyes and squints up at her. “What’re you playin’ at?”

“Just trust me, will you?” she says. 

Getting to her feet, Stella undoes the buttons down the front of her shirt. She doesn’t strictly need to-it’s loose enough that she can pull it over her head without much effort-but she wants to keep Hancock’s attention. She has: his dark eyes are all over her as she slips the flannel off her shoulders. Her skin flushes hot under his gaze and her stomach clenches. 

Her bra comes next, then her pants. Hancock reaches for her, but she shakes her head. “Here, lay down.”

He stretches along the length of the couch and Stella pulls the trousers bunched around his thighs off along with his boots. He looks so small without his clothes. Slender shoulders, slender hips, slender legs, cock rising proudly between. 

Stella sits between his legs, pushing one aside to make room. She rolls onto her stomach, legs kicking aimlessly in the air above her, and slides a hand up his thigh. He re-settles his hips, spreading his legs wider, and hums his approval.

Smiling up at him, she lets her fingers play over his stomach, tracing the dimpled twists of thickened skin. Stella can smell him, woodsy and musky and she presses her nose into the place where his leg and his torso meet. She kisses there, scrapes her teeth over him. 

Hancock groans, thrusts upwards so his cock rubs against Stella’s cheek. He laces his fingers into her hair, pushing her bangs off her face, and she looks up at him again. His face is haggard, need etched deep into its crevices. Grabbing his cock, she licks from base to tip. 

Hancock moans and tightens his fingers in her hair. “Come on, babe.”

His breath hisses and she licks again, this time closing her lips over the head. God, she loves this. Loves the way his hips wriggle, the heat that pours off his skin as she sucks at him, hot and wet. The look on his face makes her cunt clench, and she takes him deeper into her mouth. His desire for her is intoxicating. She nuzzles into his palm where it cups the side of her face and sighs. 

Outside, the wind howls. On the couch, Hancock’s breath comes in strained gasps. 

Proud of how overwrought he is, Stella props herself up on her elbow and cups his balls gently. They sit high and tight below his cock, as taut and tense as the rest of his body, ready to careen over the edge with just a bit more prodding. Hancock’s eyes are closed now, strange, encouraging sounds falling from his lips. Smiling around him, Stella bobs her head low once then pulls back, swirling her tongue as his cock slips between her lips. It twitches once and she is immediately afraid she’s pushed too far, but then it settles against his stomach, red and straining. 

“You trying to kill me here?”

Stella shakes her head and rubs just below his knee with her thumb. 

“No,” she says pointedly. “I’m trying to help you relax. You’re on edge.”

Hancock groans. “I’m not sure it’s working.”

“Just trust me,” she says again. He scratches below one of his hip bones, hand skirting dangerously close to his cock. “Nuh-uh. None of that.”

“You gotta give me something.”

His fingers knead at the back of her neck and her eyes fall shut. She does want him. She sits up and she can feel how wet she is for him. Alright, she thinks. She nods. “Alright.”

Hancock exhales. 

Stella stands up and slides her underwear down. She squeezes her thighs together, throbbing with need. 

“Sit up,” she whispers frantically, “sit up.”

He does, grabbing her hips and pulling her down onto him. Leaning in, she kisses him, reaching between them to spread her lips around him. She is slick and warm. When she rolls her hips, his cock slips easily over her clit. The pressure and the heat of him are perfect and she grinds against him. He moves against her, too, frantic and rushed, desperate for the relief she has denied him until now. 

Too soon, his pace begins to falter and Stella pulls back from the kiss. 

“No, not yet,” she gasps. She lifts up on her knees, breaking all contact and Hancock practically growls in frustration. 

She almost feels bad, this time. She didn’t plan this, but she wants him inside her, wants to feel him in her cunt more than anything right now. 

Hancock’s breath comes in pants, warm and moist against her neck, and his hands shake as he plucks at her nipples. He presses his forehead against hers. Stella is gasping too, now, lightheaded and dizzy. It is time to end this. 

Taking his cock in hand, she lines him up and sinks down onto the hard flesh. The relief is immediate and she revels in the fullness she’s been craving. Hancock digs his fingers into her ass, guiding her hips over his. Stella lets him set the pace, following his lead and circling her clit with two fingers. Her cunt is swollen and soft and her fingers slide easily over the bundle of nerves. 

His teeth find the softness curve of her neck as he thrusts deep, cock twitching out a paroxysm that looks so satisfying as it crosses his face Stella is almost jealous. She’s not there, not quite yet, and her fingers circle faster. The sensation builds, tingling through her fingertips and she grits her teeth in frustration. 

“Come on, baby,” he says, kneading her breast with one hand, one of her labia with the other. “Come on, come for me.”

She crooks her fingers faster yet, finally feeling her body topple over the edge. She tightens around him with a gasp, eyes squeezed shut and head tossed back in abandon. 

As she is coming down, she is vaguely aware of Hancock shifting them, stretching out across the sofa and pulling her body atop his.

Opening her eyes, she is vaguely aware of his hand stroking her back. She presses a kiss onto his chest.

“Damn,” he sighs. 

“Told you to be patient,” she mumbles against him. His heartbeat is slower now and, when she spares a glance up at him, the wild look in his eyes has dulled. “Feeling better?”

“It mighta been worth the wait.”


	2. To see a distant light, to hear a far-off horn

At the end of the street, Stella’s contraption hums.

  
Hancock tries not to look at the damn thing if he can help it. It’s not easy, hooked up to enough generators to power half of Goodneighbor like it is, but he tries anyway. Sturges has been hammering away at it all night and day for nearly a week now, left mostly to his own devices. Hancock stopped by a couple times early on out of curiosity, offered the kid some mentats when he was still going over schematics, but since the building started, he’s lost the stomach for it.

  
It isn’t that he begrudges Stella her need to do this. He gets it, as much as anyone who’s never even had a kid, let alone lost one, can. It’s just…he’s spent his whole life hearing rumors about the Institute and, if there’s one thing he knows, knows for certain deep in his bones, it’s that the Institute is _bad fucking news_.

  
Thing is, though, Stella knows that. She’s heard the stories, too. It’s impossible to wander the Commonwealth as much as she does and not have, and still she’s doing this.

  
He picks up a battered old pool cue, loops his fingers around it, and pokes at the eight ball. Pool’s not exactly his game, but he’s picked up a few things from Stella and it keeps his hands busy. The ball and cue crack against one another and the ball wobbles towards the corner pocket.

  
Across the street, under the carpark of her old house, Stella tinkers with her laser rifle.

  
That’s good. She needs to be prepared, needs the best gear she can carry. Of course, Stella knows that, too.

  
Hancock’s not a controlling man-he’s not gonna make a stink, won’t tell her she shouldn’t do this, but he does wish there’s something he could do to make sure she’s safe, to make sure she comes back to him.

  
There’s a loud crack from down the street and Sturges lets out a whoop that Hancock’s pretty sure has scared off every raider and radroach for a couple miles.

  
“General!”

  
Hancock’s head snaps up and he drops the cue back on the table. He looks over at Stella and catches her gaze. She latches the night vision scope she’s been tinkering with back onto her rifle and gets to her feet.

  
It’s time.

  
It’s a shorter walk to the signal interceptor than Hancock realized, and before he knows it, Sturges is throwing levers and pushing buttons.

  
“Everything looks good on my end. You ready to see if this thing actually works?”

  
_No. Not yet_.

  
“Shouldn’t we test it first?” Stella asks.

  
It hasn’t even occurred to him that the damn thing might not work right. _Shit_ , he thinks.

Everything about this is a terrible idea, but it needs doing. He’s not going to stand in the way here.

  
“I wish we could, but we’ve only got the one frequency code,” Sturges says. He starts to ramble on, but Hancock’s heart is pounding so fast, the blood rushing in his ears that he misses the rest. It’s just as well. He probably doesn’t want to know.

  
“Let’s do this.”

  
_Don’t go_.

  
“You sure?” Sturges asks.

  
_No_.

  
Stella nods.

  
“Just step onto the platform, then.”

  
The interceptor crackles and flares and Hancock turns to Stella. She looks pale and sickly bathed in the white-blue light.

  
Not sure what to say, Hancock dips his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out a pack of mentats and a syringe of Med-X. He presses them into Stella’s hands.

  
_Come back to me._

  
_“_ Just in case,” he says.

  
Stella pockets them and leans in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. This isn’t the last kiss he wants. It’s not the one they deserve. He let’s it happen, though. Maybe if it’s all wrong, she’ll have to come back to him. Maybe the universe will take pity and give them another chance.

  
“I’ll see you when I get back?”

  
_I love you._

  
“I’ll be waitin’.”


End file.
